


We're Nothing

by sadwitchcraft



Series: Desiderium [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Animal Death, Arguing, Blackwall doesn't get it, Conflicting Feelings, Dorian Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Dorian doesn't know how to be in a relationship, Dorian is an alcoholic, Homophobia, M/M, Seheron (Dragon Age), Sera and Dorian are BFFs, Tevinter warfare, The Iron Bull Tries to be a Good Guy, Uncertain relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, hurting is who Dorian is, implied BDSM, pushing people away, social justice and thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwitchcraft/pseuds/sadwitchcraft
Summary: Short pieces about the relationship between Dorian and The Iron Bull---“I can help. If you let me. Then, maybe, we can--”Dorian laughed brokenly, “Then we can what? Kiss and make up? Kadan.”“Yes. I’m holding my hand out to you, Dorian. You can take it, but you have to decide you want to."
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Series: Desiderium [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788190
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets defensive about Bull talking about their relationship openly.

It was a rare moment of idleness. They had rolled into town with the usual chatter of ‘its the Inquisition! That’s the Inquisitor!’ that accompanied their presence. It was all too easy to forget that it wasn’t just the handful of people that Kaaras kept close when they wandered into the field that made up the Inquisition, but the seemingly countless agents and soldiers. 

They probably outnumbered the citizens. The soldiers were hard at work, making a camp for themselves outside the little town. Some of the higher ranking officers had taken to the inn and tavern. 

And that was where Dorian found himself, playing barmaid. He carried three sloshing mugs of Ferelden beer back towards the table the Inquisitor was sat at. He set the beers down and sidled back into his seat, between the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull.

Dorian was a tall man. It was rare that he felt small. Sandwiched in his seat between Kaaras and The Iron Bull? Well, he could indulge himself in that feeling of being small enough to actually be at their mercy. Not that he was thinking about that. 

“You should be more careful with these people fleeing the war. You can’t trust deserters,” Bull’s voice reverberated in his chest. He picked up the mug that Dorian had brought him, giving the mage a sly smirk. 

“There is a difference between a willing soldier, and someone who has been conscripted,” Kaaras insisted, dipping his head in the manner that Dorian had become familiar with. It was almost a tic, some kind of emphasis on his words, “And it is a matter of choice. I would defect from the ranks if I were fighting a war I did not believe in.”

“Because you’re Vashoth,” Bull’s voice had the slightest edge to it, “you’ve never been a part of the Antaam. Or anything.”

“I think you’re a part of something that I am leading, right now, Bull.”

It was getting heated. Dorian took a slow drink of his deliciously terrible Ferelden beer.

“And you’re too trusting,” Bull leaned on his elbow on the table, “people follow you, because they believe in you as the Herald of Andraste. Not because you’re smart.”

“I like you, Bull, I do,” Kaaras’ voice was surprisingly even, “but I won’t sit here and have my intelligence insulted or my decisions questioned. I do take responsibility for those decisions. Your presence here, at my table, is one of those decisions. If you have a guilty conscience, by all means, leave.”

The Iron Bull laughed openly at that, “Nothing like that, boss. You do take responsibility. I like that about you. I’m just seeing more and more matches being flicked at the metaphorical kegs of gaatlok you have lying around. Thought you might like to know before it explodes on you.”

“So it comes in a keg,” Dorian took the opportunity to speak up and divert the conversation, “I had wondered how it was transported. Granted, I’ve only seen it in use a few times, and from a distance. And... it is flammable. Why, I learn so much sitting next to our very own Ben-Hassrath.”

“Hah! It is an explosive. You could easily blow your hand off with it, and a whole lot of people. Not that you need help blowing guys up, Dorian. You’re pretty good at using your magic for that,” Bull grinned at him, nudging him with a blunt elbow.

The compliment felt like a jab. Dorian gave him a smile, “Yes, well, I did excel at offensive magics. And most everything else I put my attention towards.”

“Except healing, kadan.”

“Oh, I can heal, _amatus_. It just happens to be incredibly boring,” Dorian quipped, feeling himself prickle at the use of the nickname in public. If he was going to be backed into that corner, he was going to return fire.

Kaaras sat back from the table and took a drink from his own beer, “Back on topic? The defectors, as you called them, have agreed to join the ranks of the Inquisition. I am going to accept their offer. We need more manpower that is already trained.”

“And there you are, flicking matches,” Bull dropped his hand on Dorian’s shoulder while he spoke to Kaaras, “they’re _defectors_ , Kaaras. They _defect_.”

“They were conscripted before, and now they’re making a _choice_. I have faith in that.”

“Ha! Faith!” Bull laughed and Dorian could feel it through his body at the contact point of the Qunari’s hand, “I would be really interested in having that conversation. Another time.”

Bull’s hand slid further over Dorian’s shoulder as he said that. Maker. Dorian looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll take you up on it, another time, yes. Should I excuse you, in the meantime?” Kaaras gestured between Dorian and Bull. Dorian felt his face flush. It was one thing to have a sort of relationship with The Iron Bull and another to have the Inquisitor himself ask if he was keeping them from fucking in the moment. He didn’t bring it up. He said his polite good-byes, picked up his beer, and followed The Iron Bull up the stairs.

* * * * *

“Something’s bothering you, kadan,” Bull’s voice was low, off to his left. Dorian had been blissfully enjoying the darkness of a blindfold and the flood of relief that coursed through his shaking muscles when The Iron Bull had untied his arms. It was not the time for a conversation of this sort.

“Nothing’s bothering me. I feel nice,” Dorian’s voice sounded sluggish to his own ears. Bull chuckled and reached for the blindfold but Dorian stopped him, “No. Leave it. A little longer, please.”

“Of course,” Bull dropped his hand to Dorian’s arm instead, gently rubbing, petting over his heated skin with calloused hands. Dorian so rarely felt so comfortably… blank. There weren’t thoughts of self-loathing knocking around in his head. Halward Pavus didn’t exist. Tevinter didn’t exist. Just his completely relaxed body and Bull’s hands. 

“Tell me what’s bothering you, please,” Bull was still petting him. The tenderness in his voice was so different from the biting tone he used with Kaaras. It matched how softly he touched Dorian in these moments of afterglow. But now there were thoughts disrupting Dorian’s one escape that didn’t involve alcohol. 

“Fine,” Dorian sighed, “I don’t like it when you talk about this. About us. With everyone else.”

“Why? Are you ashamed of me?”

“That’s not it at all. I’m ashamed of me,” Dorian spat and reached up to pull the blindfold off, “this is one more check mark on the list of disappointments. And to be so open about it…”

“You’re scared,” Bull sat back slightly, watching him with that single dark eye. Dorian scoffed and looked away from him. He didn’t want to see the care on that ragged face. He didn’t want to look at the pitcher of ice water, or the grapes, that were on the table behind Bull. 

“You’re damn right I’m scared,” he snapped back and started to push himself off of the bed. Maker, his legs still felt weak, “and you don’t give a shit.”

“I do,” Bull countered, standing up and rounding the bed. He reached out to support Dorian, even if the mage was determined to get away from him. 

“Then you wouldn’t call me kadan in front of everyone!”

That made The Iron Bull pause. It was rare that he had misread something, “You’ve called me amatus. Isn’t that a Tevene endearment?”

“Sarcasm, Bull. And if you’re going to expose my ass to everyone, then I might as well play along.”

“Dorian, wait,” Bull kept his voice calm, “I apologize for making offense. I’ll stop making references.”

“You won’t,” Dorian hissed at him, ignoring the fact that Bull was handing him his clothes even as he was struggling himself into them, “I know you won’t stop.”

“I am my word, Dorian,” Bull’s voice had taken on a sadder tone, “I didn’t mean to upset you like this. I shouldn’t have pressed.”

Dorian looked up at Bull, half dressed, his hair mussed, “No. No you shouldn’t have. If this is going to continue… this isn’t about romance, Bull. I don’t feel anything. And if it is going to be discussed with anyone, it will be discussed on my terms.”

Dorian was lying. The Iron Bull knew it, could see it in his posture, and the way his too tense spine made him shake. He felt something. If anything, he felt too much. Bull nodded slowly. He would let Dorian have this lie.

“Fine. While we’re making demands,” Bull gestured to the table behind himself, “drink something. Eat. I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

Dorian reluctantly returned to the bed and sat down at the edge, letting Bull press a glass of water into his hand. 

“I thought the grapes would be funny. They were hard to find,” Bull murmured to him, sitting down beside him on the bed, “I bet they’d be harder to peel.”

He plucked one out of the bowl and made a show of trying to peel the delicate skin off. Dorian laughed despite himself, all the fight draining out of him when the grape shot across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The argument escalates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and quick. Vivienne makes a brief appearance at the end.

_A few months later..._

As soon as the door shut behind them, Dorian pressed up against The Iron Bull, working away at the large belt buckle. He pressed a heated kiss to Bull’s chest as he got the belt undone. 

“Whoa, hey, hey there big guy,” Bull rumbled, taking Dorian by the shoulders and pushing him back, “slow down.”

Dorian looked up at him in confusion, feeling his cheeks burning. Had he done something? This was usually how it went. They’d go upstairs, paw at each other a bit, and have sex. Dorian would get a moment of blessed silence in his head, and Bull would get off. Win win, right?

“What is it?” 

Bull rubbed his thumb in a circle against Dorian’s shoulder, “I’ve been thinking, Dorian. About this. About us.”

Dorian stared at him. Here it came. Poof, as Sera had said. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath. 

“It has been fun. Real fun. But I can’t watch you hurt yourself. I can’t be the thing you hurt yourself with,” Bull kept his hand on Dorian’s shoulder while he spoke, watching the mage’s face. Dorian was frighteningly unemotional. 

“I see. You had fun. I had fun. Everyone had fun. But now it’s over. Is this because I asked you not to talk about my personal affairs in front of everyone a few months ago? Couldn’t take it anymore, hm? Bottling it all up.”

“It is about that conversation, Dorian, but not because you asked me not to talk about us. I see things. It is what I do. I see when people are lying to themselves. I know what some of what you’re going through feels like. I know what it is like, to find out you don’t fit in, what it is like to walk away from everything you have known -- certain you disappointed everyone you love. It hurts. And I know what it looks like when someone is trying to drown themselves in that hurt. I can’t help you do that anymore.”

“Don’t touch me,” Dorian snapped and pulled out from under his hands. He had nowhere to go but further into the room. He took a few paces backwards, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bull was looking down at him, still and quiet. He hated it. And he hated how much he wanted to press his face against the other man’s skin and cry. It always ended like this. He always made it end like this.

“I can help. If you let me. Then, maybe, we can--”

Dorian laughed brokenly, “Then we can what? Kiss and make up? _Kadan_.”

“Yes. I’m holding my hand out to you, Dorian. You can take it, but you have to decide you want to,” Bull literally held his hand out to Dorian.

Oh, this was too much. Dorian stared him down, feeling the hot prickle of energy gathering around him, itching to become an incendiary spell.

Bull lowered his hand, watching Dorian’s posture change in that subtle way that meant that he was about to cast. Drawing ambient energy into his personal aura, or some such crap. It almost looked like there were flames dancing in his dark eyes already. Well, if that was how it was going to be… it hurt. It hurt that this beautiful man was so determined to burn himself up rather than feel something or be helped in any way.

“Enough said,” Bull nodded to him and pointedly turned, offering him his back as he opened the door. It was a challenge and a taunt, to see if he would really do what he’d wordlessly threatened. The door closed behind him and he hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Bull paused in the hall and slumped his shoulders. There was nothing he could do, if Dorian wasn’t willing to be helped. He’d hoped they would have been good for each other. Despite what a prick he could be, Dorian was sweet and gentle. He had a big heart.

“There you are, dear. I have a favor to ask,” Vivienne’s voice drew his attention. She was standing at the end of the hall, her arms crossed over her chest. She was an unexpected, but welcome, distraction. 

“What’s that, ma’am?” Bull went to her immediately. She didn’t offer him a smile. Her face was impassive -- she was the exact person he needed to see to pull himself out of his head. He followed her obediently down the hall, their horned shadows flickering on the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets drunk and the argument continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has alcohol abuse and some drunken pawing. Krem makes a brief appearance.

The Altus was drunk. Drunker than The Iron Bull had ever seen him. He knew that Dorian had a bit of a problem once you put even a drop of booze in him, but this… 

It was hard to watch him do this to himself. Bull had hoped that he could save him from himself, and he knew better than to get involved in that kind of thing. Someone who was determined to be face down in a gutter was always going to end up face down in a gutter. No matter how handsome, witty, or whip-smart they were. 

Dorian’s eyes were barely open and some scumbag was taking his drunkenness as an opportunity to get in close with him. Whether he meant to rob or fuck Dorian, or even both, Bull just couldn’t stand there and watch. 

“Chief?” Krem must have had a similar idea because he was piping up, “We going to do something about it or…”

“Damn ‘Vints,” Bull grumbled but there was no heat in his words. He stood up and crossed the tavern, dropping his hand on the stranger’s shoulder.

“Best let this one go, friend,” he intentionally pitched his voice lower, squeezing the man’s shoulder, “now.”

Something about the glare of a scarred up old Qunari must have motivated the guy to take Bull’s advice. He left Dorian behind without a word of protest, and Krem pulled him aside to make sure he wasn’t getting away with anything valuable and personal to the Altus.

“Oh, fuck you,” Dorian slurred, looking up at The Iron Bull with a sneer, “I don’t… I don’t need you…rescuing me.”

“Sure about that?” Bull responded to him with a sigh, “Keep your skirts down. We’re about to go on a ride.”

“I’m not wearing a skirt,” Dorian hissed, then yelped when Bull reached down and hoisted him over his shoulder. In the past, this would have been a part of their play. Dorian’s immediately limp response against his shoulder was worrisome, but expected. Bull had seen him resign himself to just… being taken somewhere before.

“I hate you,” the mage muttered from over Bull’s shoulder as he was carried through the tavern and up the stairs. It was a lie, with no heat behind it. He felt Dorian’s hands on his back, smoothing over a dip of muscle. 

“Right back at you,” Bull replied, using his free hand to open the door. He carried Dorian over to the bed and tossed him down on it. He stooped over him, carefully unclasping the belt that held a tome attached to Dorian’s waist. Other little bits of light armor followed, easily tossed aside.

“Thought you were done with me, with us,” Dorian’s voice was all petulance and slurring. Bull nodded in response, pulling off one of Dorian’s boots.

“I am,” Bull answered evenly and removed the other boot, “think of this as… a friend looking out for a friend.”

“Ohh, that. I can be a very good friend,” Dorian pushed himself up on his elbow, giving Bull a heated look. Bull would almost believe it, if he weren’t so aware of the pain behind Dorian’s eyes.

Bull reached out and fluffed his hair, eliciting a disgusted scoff from him. It broke the eye contact. That was good. He couldn’t let himself be tempted into doing exactly what he was trying to prevent. 

“Ow...fuck! Bull, stop!”

“It didn’t hurt.”

“My hair…”

“You’re fine.”

Dorian dropped himself back on the bed, closing his eyes, “Are you going to get this over with or just ruin my hair? Might as well actually tear my clothes while you’re at it… I liked that robe you tore.”

“Mm. You got a new one,” Bull sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling one of Dorian’s feet into his lap and rubbing it. That got an immediate groan from him. 

“That’s not the point,” Dorian didn’t bother to open his eyes, “Why’re you rubbing my footsies?”

That hurt. Shouldn’t, but it did. Before they’d started doing whatever it was they had been doing, Bull had jabbed at Dorian, asking him if there weren’t enough slaves around to rub his footsies. It was a throwaway conversation, just one of many prods they had delivered to one another before they really got familiar with each other. Dorian gave as good as he got, and his wit made the insults fun. At the same time, Bull had learned a lot about how the Altus spoke. Sarcasm, saying the opposite of what he meant, it was all a part of Dorian’s defenses.

“Because it makes you shut up,” Bull continued to rub, avoiding a spot that seemed like it would be tender. Might be a blister, if they hit the road again in the morning. 

And Dorian was quiet. Bull glanced up at him, expecting him to have passed out. He was instead greeted by Dorian’s half open eyes staring at him.

“...Call me kadan?” Dorian’s voice was just above a whisper. Bull drew in a deep breath, looking away from him and closing his eye for a moment. Shit. It’d be easier if he’d just passed the fuck out.

“No.”

Bull kept rubbing, ignoring the choked sound that came from Dorian. He kept his head low, not wanting to let him know how much saying no hurt. Fuck, even he hadn’t really realized how much saying no would hurt.

“Oh, fuck you. What do I have to do? Hm? You won’t… you won’t fuck me anymore because I won’t let you talk about it to everyone, or call me kadan and then I say do it and…”

“That’s exactly it, Dorian, and I’m not going to talk about it with you right now. You’re drunk.”

Dorian pulled his foot out of Bull’s hand and kicked him in the arm. It was half-hearted, more of a push, like one would use to shove a dog off the foot of a bed. 

“Go _away_.”

“I will,” Bull spoke slowly, “Krem will be outside the door, to make sure you don’t go back downstairs. Get some sleep, Dorian.”

Dorian was spitting insults and Bull didn’t care to let them stick. He got up and left the room, calling Krem up and giving him the order. It didn’t take long to get Krem a chair and something to do while he kept watch over their Tevinter mage. 

Even if it wasn’t necessary. Dorian had no intentions of leaving the room, or even the bed. He drew in around himself, burying his head in his arms and letting himself cry. He wanted to go home, even if he had no idea where that was. Bull had felt a bit like home, as much as he’d hated his inability to be discreet. He wanted the numbness of mind that Bull gave him so badly. The alcohol was close to it, and it was pulling him towards the darkness of passing out, paired with his emotions like a crap wine and air hardened cheese.

He was blacked out when Krem checked on him twenty minutes later. Krem groaned internally and approached the bed, grabbing Dorian’s shoulders and pushing him back onto it properly since he’d apparently decided to hang halfway off in his drunkenness. The mage made a sound like a whine and curled up on his side. Krem almost felt bad for him, but… the chief knew what he was doing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull makes a peace offering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet.

Dorian was almost drowsing in the saddle, lulled by the movements of the horse as they followed the road. It was hardly the smoothest gait, but he was getting used to the Ferelden Forder. 

He was drawn from his comfortable lull when a shadow fell over him. The Iron Bull was sitting astride one of the stupidly large Asaarash horses that had been given to the Inquisitor. Probably the reason they were actually riding now instead of walking across all of Thedas like savages.

Bull reached down towards him, holding out a hand picked little bouquet of Crystal Grace blooms. Dorian pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing around them to see if anyone was paying attention. The Inquisitor and Cassandra were a short distance ahead of them, talking to each other and seemingly absorbed in the conversation. Cassandra was gesturing at least. One could easily think the two were arguing if it weren’t for Kaaras’ abrupt laugh. 

No one was watching them. He took the flowers with a curt ‘thank you’. At the very least, they were useful reagents.

“You’re welcome. Dorian, I wanted to talk about what happened. I haven’t seen you since,” Bull spoke evenly. 

“That was intentional.”

“I thought as much.”

“Then did you think that I might still not want to talk to you?”

“I did, and decided to be foolish,” Bull gave him a crooked smile, “you’re a good man, Dorian. I really enjoyed--”

“Maker, how many times are you going to break up with me?” Dorian snapped and it drew Kaaeas’ attention. He was all too aware of both the Inquisitor and the Seeker peering over their shoulders at them. He felt his cheeks flush and refused to look at them again.

“Were we together?” Bull’s much quieter rumble made him look to the side at the Qunari. Bull had such an open expression on his haggard face it hurt. Dorian found that he wasn’t able to look away. Not this time.

“I… don’t know,” he softened, searching Bull’s face, “I really don’t know.”

“When I told you that I was holding my hand out to you, I meant that we could be. If you wanted it,” Bull reached over and put his hand on Dorian’s shoulder, “I just don’t want to be the guy you fuck to hurt yourself, and I know you’re smart enough to know what I mean by that. My people don’t do relationships, Dorian. It is unfamiliar territory for me, too. But I’d try.”

Dorian felt like he was shaking. He once again pressed his lips together in a thin line, feeling the sting of tears at his eyes. He prayed that Kaaras and Cassandra weren’t spectating. It would be just the thing he needed, spectators for whatever this was. And the truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted. Bull was right. He fucked The Iron Bull because it was one more disappointment in a litany of disappointments. But then he’d started to actually like it. It wasn’t just the numbness of mind Bull could help him reach. It was the stupid things, like the dumb flowers he was holding now. Or watching Bull try to peel a grape. Or the way that he would pet Dorian so softly when he thought Dorian was asleep next to him. Fuck. He really didn’t want to feel like this. The last time he had felt something for anyone, it had been dangerous. It resulted in a screaming match with his father that ultimately (likely) had led to Halward deciding blood magic was the way to go. 

“I can’t make that decision right now,” he finally answered and Maker did it feel like pulling his own teeth out, “I’m sorry, Bull. But I can’t.”

Bull squeezed his shoulder and Dorian wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms. Why was he saying no? 

“Alright, Dorian. You know how to find me, if you make a decision.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for character injury and playing fast and loose with how magic works.

Rocks slid under Dorian’s feet. He leaned back, trying to keep himself steady as he worked his way down the steep incline. He had to occasionally reach out to grab hold of a branch of rock as he picked his way down. The Iron Bull hadn’t had that luxury. Dorian was reminded of that as he grabbed for a branch and came away with sticky blood across his palm.

The Iron Bull was a too still mass at the foot of the incline. Dorian didn’t want to think about it too much. He’d end up losing his footing. The fact that Bull was facedown and had not moved from that position since Dorian had started to climb down made his stomach twist. Bull was always so quick to get back up, to run straight back into the fight -- stillness meant something was very, _very_ wrong. 

A rock slid out from beneath Dorian’s foot and he fell backwards on his ass, grabbing for a handhold. His staff was an unpleasant pressure in the small of his back, trapped between his body and the ground. It just may be the best idea to continue to rest of the descent on his backside. He pushed himself along, fully aware of the fact that this meant his robes were going to be dirty or even shredded by the time he reached the bottom. Not to mention his staff would be scratched. It didn’t matter. As tempting as it was to distract himself with such thoughts, he needed to focus on Bull.

It seemed like days passed before Dorian got his feet under himself. He stood and looked back up the incline as he brushed himself off. He could still hear fighting above but surely the Inquisitor and Sera would be able to handle it. Maker, he hoped so… that was another thought to push aside. He turned his attention towards The Iron Bull, the entire reason he was down here, and jogged over to him. Just as he feared, the Qunari was unconscious and bleeding heavily. 

Healing was boring. If Dorian had said it once, he’d said it a thousand times and believed it even more. Now he wished he hadn’t been bored to tears by it. He pulled his staff from his back and drew in a deep breath, gathering energy around himself. Healing may have been boring, but it did leave him with a kind of light-headed euphoria when he started to direct his energy in that manner. He rolled his staff in his hands and focused, envisioning the necessary sigils… yes, there it went. Soft light emanated from the ground around Bull. The barrier would at the very least give Dorian a little more time to truly assess the situation. 

He dropped down to his knees in the sand and reached out to Bull, feeling the tingle of the barrier he had cast along his skin. There was an extensive amount of bruising along Bull’s cheek and jaw on the blind side. He’d taken the brunt force of the blow from a cudgel in the face. The whole thing had happened in seconds. Dorian had watched Bull’s head snap back and a second little bastard dart in to shank him while his guard was down. Together the pair managed to topple the Qunari over the edge. Dorian had followed him no more than a moment later. It had been hasty. He hadn’t accounted for how steep the incline was. He hadn’t accounted for the rogue trying to follow him. Fire was wonderful for those kinds of things. He’d gotten his first glimpse of The Iron Bull laying face down in the dirt as he’d watched the rogue topple down the incline on fire. 

The body was some twenty feet beyond The Iron Bull. Dorian gingerly hopped over Bull’s legs and made his way over to the rogue’s body, squatting down beside him to pick through the leather bag at his hip. Papers, knives, a couple of herbs… a vial. Dorian uncorked it and sniffed. If it wasn’t a healing potion, it was as close to one as he was going to get. He took it back to Bull and paused.

He knew the damned rogue had stabbed The Iron Bull. Since the Qunari was face down, Dorian didn’t have access to the wound. How was _he_ supposed to roll Bull over? The mage squinted back up at the top of the...well, it was a cliffside, if he was going to be honest with himself. There was no sign of Sera or the Inquisitor. He really was going to have to do this alone. 

The Iron Bull was massive. That was an understatement. He stood almost two feet taller than Dorian, and Dorian was hardly a short man. Not only that, he was solidly muscled and considerably well fed. Dorian knew what being underneath The Iron Bull felt like, when he was supporting his own weight. To have to deal with the dead weight…

Best not to think of the word ‘dead’. Dorian set his staff aside, settled himself on the ground with his back to Bull and paused. He had no idea if what he was going to try to do was going to work. Now that he was about to do it, it seemed exceptionally stupid. Hopefully he wasn’t near the wound. He grit his teeth, pushed his heels into the ground and shoved back against Bull. Nope. That wasn’t working. Dorian swore under his breath and grabbed Bull’s arm, pulling it around himself for some hope of leverage all the while praying The Iron Bull didn’t wake up and laugh at his efforts. No, no, he took that back. He’d rather make Bull laugh. 

He shoved again, holding tight to Bull’s arm. Slowly, slowly, he got Bull’s shoulder up which meant that he could get himself wedged underneath him more. He continued to shove, swearing and struggling against the massive weight at his back until he managed to roll the Qunari over. 

There was a definite temptation to just stay draped over him and die. That was dramatic, but Dorian was also certain he was dying. He’d managed to strain every muscle in his body in the effort to push Bull on his back. The barrier he had cast was long since exhausted and he was certain he was never going to move again. But he _had_ to.

Dorian pushed away from The Iron Bull and fell back on his knees. His robes were smeared with dirt and Qunari blood. His hair was plastered down to his head with sweat. But Bull looked worse by far. Now that he had him on his back, Dorian was certain that Bull’s jaw was broken. The stab wound was at the very least small, though very well aimed. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it had certainly worked wonders to incapacitate. 

“Stubborn fool. You should wear more damned armor instead of running about bare chested,” Dorian grumbled half heartedly and pulled the cork from the vial with his teeth. He held the potion in one hand while he cleared debris from Bull’s would with the other. Once he was satisfied it was as clean as it was going to get, he poured a generous dose of the potion into it and cupped his hand over it. Potions weren’t a match for magical healing, but they were good until one could reach a mage. Or until a mage regained the energy and the wits to heal. Dorian leaned his forehead against Bull’s chest while he waited for his mana to replenish, waited for the potion to work, and waited for his heart to stop hammering. Bull’s breathing was steady. That was a good sign, at least.

Dorian exhaled shakily and sat back to lift his hands. He focused his attention on weaving the energy he could draw to himself and from the area into a healing spell. It didn’t have to be anything particularly fancy, though he did enjoy spells with a good flare… it just had to work. He could feel the energy in his fingertips, waiting for him to bend reality to his will. That was the truth of magic when it came down to it. Bending reality, shaping the world that they lived in, weaving it around himself with delicate strands plucked from dreams. He directed the energy to Bull’s injuries with a fluid gesture. Memories of Bull flooded over him, unbidden. A husky laugh in his ear. Thick, calloused, fingers running through his hair and rubbing at the back of his neck. Pressing kisses along the angle of his stubbled jaw… 

The Iron Bull had held his hand out to Dorian and Dorian had pushed him away. As light as Bull made his heart feel, it was dangerous. There was no way it could work. No way he could let himself love the Qunari. Rather, no way that he could admit to himself that what he was feeling was _love_. He hadn’t shared his intentions to go back to Tevinter with the Inquisitor and the others, but once he did… 

And if he stayed? Was he supposed to follow The Iron Bull and his Chargers across all of Thedas while they did mercenary work? The life of a mercenary wasn’t something that Dorian had ever entertained for himself. Nor would he. Regardless of what he ultimately did, allowing that hollow place in his heart to be filled by The Iron Bull would be painful. It already was.

Dorian sniffled a little and half opened his eyes. Bull’s skin was alight with the Spirit energy. Dorian could feel it pulling at the broken bone and the bruised flesh underneath his hands. 

Bull’s offer had been one of healing, too, hadn’t it? Perhaps that was what Dorian couldn’t take. If it was possible to set his hurt aside, to really take steps forward… he’d have no idea who he was anymore. So many moments in his life had been defined by pain of one sort or another. Cole had made that clear enough when he had dipped into Dorian’s memories. Everything, every bit of love, every bit of happiness, was woven together with threads of hurt and all but stitched into Dorian’s skin. The spirit had been unable to help him. He held his hurt too dearly. Too personally. If he let Bull tug at just one of those strands of hurt…

“Fuck me,” The Iron Bull croaked and Dorian was blessedly pulled from his thoughts. He looked down into the face of the other man, drawing his hand away from the formerly broken jaw. 

“I’d really rather not. You’re fortunate that I was so nearby, Bull. You could have--” Dorian was cut off when Bull grabbed him by the front of the robes and pulled him down into a bruising kiss. He resisted initially, then let himself relax. Bull was so damned strong, even injured, and his stubble scraping against Dorian’s skin was so familiar. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss. 

Bull broke the kiss and Dorian leaned his forehead against his, refusing to open his eyes. He grit his teeth, not wanting to feel the emotions that were threatening to come up. Bull had tugged at that thread of hurt, whether or not he knew it. Whether or not Dorian wanted it. He leaned his head against Bull’s and let himself feel the pain he feared and the pain of letting Bull go, trying to weigh out which was worse. Bull’s hand was heavy and warm on his back. 

“You were _worried_ about me,” Bull’s voice was still hoarse, rattling in his chest. Dorian scoffed but didn’t pull away from him. 

“I would have gladly thrown Solas off the cliff after you, if he was with us.”

“You’d do that without needing an excuse,” Bull smoothed his hand up to the back of Dorian’s neck and squeezed lightly. Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. The laugh turned into something ragged and painful and he pressed his face close to Bull’s neck. The Iron Bull said nothing, just tiredly wrapped his arm around him and held him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any errors! I don't have a beta and tend to not see repetition or mistakes.


	6. Chapter 6

Dorian had only said yes because there was running water nearby. That was what he told himself, at least. After all of the conflict with The Iron Bull, after all of the things that they had seen… he wanted the numbness of mind more than he was actually concerned about his personal cleanliness. 

They’d waited until most everyone was occupied with something else. The Inquisitor was afield, looking at the various plants in the region. Solas and Vivienne had elected to join him. Cassandra, Blackwall, Sera and Varric had headed East to complete some task of their own. Sera hadn’t wanted to go, but Blackwall had convinced her. Cole was...who knew where Cole was? Did it matter?

That had left Dorian and The Iron Bull. Even knowing they were unlikely to be interrupted, Dorian had spent time casting silencing charms to reassure himself that they wouldn’t be bothered.

Bull’s hand was over Dorian’s mouth, his thumb pressed up along the side of Dorian’s nose. He was taking shallow breaths, enjoying the headiness of it. That pressure, the slightest struggle to breathe, that was exactly what Dorian needed. He swallowed heavily just letting himself feel Bull’s other hand on his skin. Rough. Calloused. Almost too warm. He was just petting Dorian, moving slowly, his touches soft despite the roughness of his hands. 

Dorian opened his eyes and looked up at The Iron Bull. That was a mistake. Bull wasn’t looking him in the face, no, he was looking at Dorian’s body. His expression was soft, caring. _Loving_. Dorian felt the inexplicable need to run, right then and there. Something about his body must have changed because Bull’s expression quickly became concerned. He looked up at Dorian.

“Do I need to stop?”

Dorian was torn between shaking his head and nodding. Yes, he needed Bull to stop looking at him _like that_. No, he needed the peace of mind he knew would come at the end of all of this. There wasn’t really a good way to say that, was there? _No, don’t stop but please stop looking at me like you love me._ It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. 

Bull pulled his hand away from Dorian’s face, much to Dorian’s annoyance. He took a deep breath and rubbed his own hands over his face, feeling the slight grit of stubble against his palms as they passed over his jaw. Great, he needed to shave, too.

“I didn’t say you needed to stop,” he snapped and dropped his hand. Bull gave him a look, sitting back. This should have been easier. Why did he have to open his eyes? That was precisely why he preferred a blindfold. If he couldn’t see the way Bull looked at him, then it wasn’t a problem.

“Nothing’s changed,” Bull’s words sounded a little remorseful, “I had hoped. Maybe because I got scared. But I’d hoped.”

“You? Scared?” Dorian sat up on his elbow and looked at Bull, “Of what?”

Bull smiled crookedly and looked away from him, turning his missing eye towards him, “Listen, Dorian. Perhaps I have used the wrong word. I am not afraid of dying. Especially not in battle. That is how I’d prefer it. But I am afraid of… truly losing you. That is why I had hoped that this was you taking my hand. Now I am not so sure.”

Dorian dropped back from his elbow and stared up at the fabric of the tent. This wasn’t going to just go away. As much as he’d hoped for it, he wasn’t going to be able to go back to _just_ having sex with The Iron Bull. The Qunari had become far more attached to him than either of them likely anticipated. And he… he didn’t want to admit to what he felt for a second. Still, nothing was ever going to change if he kept his mouth shut. How many more encounters like this could he go through?

“I was with a man named Rilienus. Our relationship lasted a few years,” Dorian spoke quietly, focusing on the fabric of the tent instead of Bull, “My father kidnapped me from his family estate. His father, Ulio, was...sympathetic to us. Probably why Rilienus was always so much more comfortable being himself where others could see than I was.”

The Bull was just listening, so Dorian continued, “After being kidnapped from the Abrexis estates, I was confined within my own family home. Months went by. I had no contact with the outside world, no freedoms. It was during this time that I discovered what my father intended to do to...to change me.”

He took a moment to push the waiver out of his voice, not particularly wanting to be emotional in front of The Iron Bull in that moment. Still, Bull reached out and rested a heavy hand on his bare thigh. It was comforting, as much as he didn’t _want_ comfort. 

“I escaped, only took whatever I could fit on my person and left the country,” Dorian continued after a moment, “I could only think ‘I’m on my own now’... I didn’t believe anyone would take me in, anyone would want to. I didn’t want… I didn’t want to risk Rili’s happiness anymore. Then Cole had to say it to me. He had to _tell_ me that he would have said yes. That he would have come with me. How different things would have been, if I’d just reached out to him instead of assuming that he was done with me. It isn’t the first time, either. I thought he was turning me away, when I was in Minrathous. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I loved him. And I walked away.”

“Dorian…”

“He’s moved on,” Dorian cut Bull off, “publicly, he’s married to the woman _I_ was supposed to be wed to. Happy for them, I suppose. Funny how life works. Privately… I hear he has taken another lover. I don’t know why I expected he wouldn’t. For all he knew, or even knows, I’m dead.”

The Iron Bull eased himself down beside Dorian, propping his horned head up with one hand and resting his other palm on Dorian’s chest. He didn’t say anything, just occupying space beside the mage and listening while he talked.

“Everyone else I’ve ever been with… it was never like it was with Rili,” Dorian put his hand over Bull’s tentatively, “everyone else has only been interested in my body. Not that I blame them, I am a perfect specimen. If not that, they’ve been interested in my magical talents. Rili listened to me. Held me. Cared. Even in the moments when we weren’t exclusive to each other, I knew I could go to him and just… be seen. Even for a moment. We weren’t perfect. Far from it. But I just… for all he gave me, I left him. I assumed. And I left him.”

“Dorian. Let it go. Time has passed. You are a different man than you were when you left Tevinter. I am sure that this Rilienus is a changed man, too,” Bull’s voice rumbled next to his ear, “as hard as that may be to believe. Your life has gone in a different direction. There’s no reason to continue to wonder what would have been if you’d walked a different path.”

Dorian laughed bitterly and shook his head, “Is it really that easy for Qunari to just… not feel something anymore? You just decide and go on from there?”

“No,” Bull shrugged one massive shoulder, “my people handle loss very differently than humans. But Rilienus isn’t lost. He’s serving a different purpose. Be happy for him. I think he would be happy for you. Emotions aren’t like candles that can just be snuffed out, but we can decide how we handle the darkness.”  
“Surprisingly poetic, Bull,” Dorian sighed and rolled on his side, reaching out to the Qunari beside him. Whatever was happening between them, The Iron Bull was willing to hold him. Dorian closed his eyes when he felt rough lips press a kiss into his hair.

“I’m full of surprises,” Bull’s smile was audible in his voice. Maker, if only Dorian could let himself give in. How was he supposed to handle the darkness, or whatever Bull had said? There was the chance that Bull would still leave. Everyone Dorian had been with save for Rilienus had left him, despite what they might have said. And Rilienus? Cole telling him that Rili would have followed him made that wound ragged. If he returned to Tevinter, would he see Rilienus and his new lover? How was he supposed to endure that when he had fallen in love with the other man at first sight?

And was it so bad if he wanted to hold on? Rilienus had been one moment of brightness within all of the hurt of his life. As interwoven as his memories of the man were with all the pain of everything else, he didn’t want to give them up. Some of those moments were the best in his life so far. He didn’t want to forget the feel of Rilienus' gold gilded lips against his on that first night they’d known each other in favor of the memories of a new love. It was dangerous. It was painful. 

He sniffled against Bull’s chest, “I don’t think I can, Bull. I don’t think I can…”

The Iron Bull nodded and tilted his jaw up. Dorian anticipated one of his heated kisses, but Bull pressed his lips against his forehead instead. Dorian closed his eyes as Bull traced the backs of his fingers along his jaw.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His staff creaked, threatening to give, and that was the cue to move. Keep moving, keep in motion. He followed the arc of the axe downwards, then wrenched his staff away and struck out at Bull again, aiming for the side of his head. The Bull moved quickly, catching the blow with a horn and swinging his axe inward towards Dorian’s exposed side.

Dorian barely ducked to the side, following the momentum of the move to swing his staff around himself and swipe low at his opponent. He could count on the blow being practically unexpected. It was on The Iron Bull’s blind side, after all, and Bull didn’t seem to anticipate Dorian physically using his staff as a weapon. Bull grunted at the hit and swung down with his axe, but Dorian was already moving out of the way, swinging his staff down to smack it across Bull’s hand on the haft of his axe. That drew out another sharp grunt and gave Dorian the time to get some space.

But The Iron Bull covered ground quickly. He was on top of Dorian in an instant, swinging his axe downward. Dorian grasped his staff with both hands, bracing himself in the sand as he moved to block the blow. He felt it slam through his elbows and shoulders and was quite certain his hands were going to be bruised from the force. His staff creaked, threatening to give, and that was the cue to move. Keep moving, keep in motion. He followed the arc of the axe downwards, then wrenched his staff away and struck out at Bull again, aiming for the side of his head. The Bull moved quickly, catching the blow with a horn and swinging his axe inward towards Dorian’s exposed side. Fuck. 

Dorian let go of the staff, keenly aware of how it swung and flipped off of Bull’s horn. He was falling, himself, hitting the sand hard and rolling to avoid the axe’s edge. Less than ideal. Now he was unarmed and on the ground. His staff was far enough away to be a _problem_.

Not a problem that a little magic couldn’t solve. Dorian pushed himself backwards with his heels, casting a barrier as he went. It wouldn’t do much to Bull. Really, it was more flash than anything… but it would give him the chance to get on his feet. He rolled to the side and got his knees under him, just in time to hear the barrier go off.

Bull was snarling, but Dorian had the moment he needed. Back on his feet, he hooked his foot under his staff and flipped it into his hands. Bull was back on him, bearing down, swinging the axe in a way that Dorian would say was wild if he didn’t know better. Dorian threw down another barrier, keeping himself inside of it so that it was certain to be triggered the moment Bull stepped in towards him. The flashes of magic were disorienting, and Dorian found himself relying on feel to anticipate where Bull was going to strike next. He half closed his eyes, flipping his staff around his shoulders and striking out with it to land a solid blow along Bull’s ribs as the Qunari lunged past him.

“Fucking magic,” he caught Bull’s words and felt emboldened by it. It was an unspoken line that he’d chosen to cross. Nothing he had cast was directly harmful, no. Dorian had chosen the barriers he was throwing down specifically because they were sure to be visually disorienting. If Bull decided that he was done playing… well, he could end this quickly. Still, it was invigorating to get the advantage. Dorian’s heart was slamming in his ears in a way that he hadn’t really experienced in years, even in the midst of the most brutal fights with the Inquisitor. This was close up. This was gritty. 

Having distance on Bull now meant that he also had the opportunity to show off. He met Bull’s eyes and flipped his staff upside down in his hands. Breaking the tense eye contact with Bull he went into motion, bouncing on the balls of his feet and planting the end of the staff in the sand. It was easy to follow the momentum from there, tensing his arms and pulling himself off the ground and through a perfectly executed flip. He landed with a flourish and a flashed grin.

“That’s just flashy bullshit,” Bull pointed at him with the axe, “and you know it.”

“Flashy bullshit or not, you’re impressed,” Dorian took the momentary pause to catch his breath, hanging his hands over his staff as it rested across his shoulders. 

“Hmn,” Bull didn’t seem to care for the rest much because he was swinging at Dorian again. Dorian barely had the time to pull his staff from his shoulders. Simply because it seemed to irritate Bull, he focused on flipping himself, using the staff to propel himself and get that precious distance again. The staff wasn’t meant for these kinds of acrobatics and he was certain he was ruining the ferrule, but it didn’t matter. This was his opportunity to get under Bull’s skin in much the same way Bull got under his. 

He came out of a flip and Bull jerked his staff out of his hands with the edge of his axe. The Qunari flipped it into his own hands and threw it to the side, well out of Dorian’s reach. In the same motion, Bull lurched his elbow backwards, landing it hard between Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian dropped down to the sand with a pained gasp. Bull’s axe rested against the back of his neck a moment later, the finely honed edge just barely biting into his skin.

“You’re still dead, Dorian,” The Iron Bull’s voice was a low snarl, and he momentarily let the axe rest more firmly against Dorian’s skin. He pulled it away then, replacing the weapon on his back and reaching down to pull Dorian out of the sand. Dorian held onto his arm while he recovered his feet. Bull’s hand rested against his chest and the mage found himself looking up at the Qunari, knowing full well that he could feel the pounding of his heart through his thin robes. Bull lowered his head and kissed Dorian hard and possessive and Dorian let him. It was easy. It was easy to be kissed, to be practically bent over Bull’s arm as he claimed some sort of prize for winning their sparring match. The strain in Dorian’s muscles, the focus that he had held while they had fought, it was close to the other moments of numbness that he craved from The Iron Bull. He found himself holding onto the harness that Bull was wearing, clinging to him with a desperate need to be close.

Dorian almost let himself believe they were completely alone until a small rock ricocheted off of Bull’s horn. It was followed by another that popped against Dorian’s thigh.

“Gross!” Sera’s voice announced her presence and Dorian felt his cheeks burn. Bull released him and let him recover his feet. Dorian had only barely supported himself when he felt Sera’s hands on his shoulders. That was the only warning she gave him before she pulled herself up on his back. He had no choice but to catch her legs as she wrapped them around his hips. Her thin arms wrapped around his shoulders and she knocked her head against his. 

“What’s so gross?” Bull laughed at her and leaned in like he was going to kiss Dorian again. Sera responded with a growl, snapping her teeth in his direction and Dorian couldn’t help but laugh as it became some kind of strange game. He held onto Sera more surely, backing away from Bull while the Qunari tried to press a kiss to his cheek and Sera snarled like some kind of demented little dog. They worked their way in a circle, the three of them laughing as they evaded each other. 

Bull finally landed a big, wet, sloppy kiss. On Sera’s cheek.

“Aggggh! Disgusting!” she shrieked, letting go of Dorian’s shoulder to push at Bull’s face with the heel of her hand. 

“I think the problem is you, Bull,” Dorian laughed, moving backwards again to get Sera out of his range. She blew a raspberry above his head in response, “Don’t flatter yourself. You both smell like arse.”

“Me? Smell like arse?” Dorian gasped and stopped moving, trying to look over his shoulder at her. Bull took advantage of his mock ‘shock’ to snatch Sera off his back. The elf shrieked with laughter, squirming and resisting until she was up on Bull’s shoulders.

“Oh, now you’re fucked,” Sera announced, and grabbed hold of one of Bull’s horns, “Charge!”

Dorian turned and ran from them, hopping over his own staff and scuttling down the shallow hill. It was easy to forget the discomfort of the moment as soon as it had turned into play. Maker, how long had it really been since he’d _played_ like this? He threw a glance over his shoulder, watching Bull catching up to him, Sera bouncing jovially on his shoulders and shouting out commands. 

“Get’m, get’m!” she pointed at Dorian and Bull picked up speed, reaching out to grab Dorian by the belt that crossed his back. The world spun beneath Dorian momentarily as he was hauled into the air and tucked beneath Bull’s arm like a particularly large sack of flour. Sera locked her legs around Bull’s neck, raising both her arms in the air and crowing in triumph. 

The Iron Bull set Dorian on his feet at the top of the hill. Sera stood up on Bull’s shoulders, struggling for her balance for a second then performing a dizzying little backflip off of him.

“What’s with the flipping?” Bull grumbled, but there was humor in his voice, “I could do a flip, if I wanted to.”

“Yeah, go on, then,” Sera grinned at him and Dorian raised his eyebrows, gesturing for Bull to go on.

“Turn around. I can’t do it if anyone’s watching,” Bull crossed his arms over his chest and looked at them expectantly. Dorian let out another laugh. In the moment, he reached out to Bull, bracing himself with a hand on his folded arms as he leaned up for a kiss. It didn’t occur to him that it was the first kiss he had ever initiated with The Iron Bull when they were in public. Even if that ‘public’ was _Sera_. Maybe there was no reason for him to be afraid. Maybe this was something that he could do. Maybe it was just the adrenaline. There were so many possibilities. He broke the kiss and looked up at Bull.

“Aw, romantic. Not,” Sera ruined the moment. Of course she did. Still, Dorian couldn’t help but smile. He pulled away from Bull. 

“Jealous, Sera?”

“What? No!” Sera scoffed at him, “Wait...why’re you walking towards me like that?”

“Like what?”

“All...arms open and...aggggh! Stop it!” Sera screeched when Dorian wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. He had friends now. He had people he gladly considered family here. Maybe, just maybe... things would be different.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Adaar comes up against a Tevinter war tactic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Animal death, blood  
> This chapter contains a description of animal death. Most of it is implied, but it may still be too graphic for some. Oh, and a person dies too.

“Ah, fuck. We didn’t warn him,” Bull grumbled, wiping sweat out of his face. Dorian looked up at the Qunari, then over towards where he had last seen the Inquisitor. He had been aware of the two horsemen that were circling the field, and the careful distance that The Iron Bull was keeping from them. It never occurred to Dorian that the other Qunari fighting with them would have to be warned. 

The Tevinter army had learned that horses were an efficient way to engage in combat with Qunari. It wasn’t because being on horseback afforded a warrior more height and more speed, though that certainly did help. It was precisely what Dorian was watching happen right in that moment. Of course, this close to the Tevinter border, some of the bandits they were up against would be familiar with tactics specific to taking down a Qunari quickly and efficiently. 

One of the riders swung a rope above his head and tossed it, the lasso looping neatly around Kaaras’ horns. The Inquisitor barely seemed to notice, as focused as he was on blocking the attack that was coming at him from the front. It was a distraction. In the next instant, Kaaras was being hauled backwards off his feet as the rider spurred his horse and took off in the opposite direction. A matter of seconds, and just like that the rider was too far away for Dorian to effectively do anything about it. 

“Fasta vass,” Dorian swore under his breath and looked around them. Cassandra was too far away, oblivious to the fact that the Inquisitor was down. Sera was up on a rock shouting, but Dorian couldn’t hear what she was saying. Bull wasn’t going to be able to catch up to the damned horse, even if he could cover a lot of ground running. Dorian was probably the best bet in that moment, but he needed--

“The other horse,” Dorian prodded Bull with his staff, “I need the _other_ horse.”

Bull looked down at him, then turned his head to see the other rider. He was nearby, circling his horse and trying to figure out how to get in closer to Bull for a repeat performance. 

“I’m going to hate this. You better have a damned good idea,” the Qunari grumbled. He’d intentionally positioned himself with the surrounding rocks so that the rider would have a hard time getting close to him. Dorian didn’t respond, slipping his staff onto his back and climbing up onto one of the rocks. This was stupid. Incredibly stupid. He hoped it worked. 

Bull stepped out from his cover, lowering his head, “Right. Let’s go.”

The rider charged towards Bull, swinging the rope above his head. It caught on Bull’s horn, but the Qunari was ready, grabbing it and using the leverage to pull the rider right out of the saddle. That was Dorian’s queue. As the horse tore past the rock he was standing on he leapt --

It was a hard, awkward, ball-smashing landing that made his vision swim. The horse wasn’t terribly happy about it either, but thank the Maker he was a half competent rider. He managed to get his feet in the stirrups and his hands on the reins before the thing threw a sorry excuse for a buck. Dorian pulled the reins to the left, forcing the horse into a tight circle. Letting it out of the circle, he skimmed his spurs against its belly, gripping the saddle with his knees as the horse bolted forward. The animal’s gait was hard to sit, and felt like it was tearing up the terrain. It was a far cry from his own well-bred Tevene horse. But it would do. 

He was gaining ground on the other rider. Probably because he wasn’t dragging a Qunari that also happened to be armored up. He shifted himself in the saddle, getting his weight over the horse’s withers and urging it on. The animal’s breath was coming in hot bursts, foam flecking at the corner’s of its mouth. 

Dorian sat back in the saddle, slowing the horse as he caught up to the other rider. He could now see Kaaras struggling against his pauldrons to try and reach out to his horns. That was a good argument against armor, right there. The other rider did a double take when she noticed that it was Dorian on the horse and not the person she had clearly expected. 

Now he was in range. Dorian gripped the reins with one hand, reaching back for his staff. A moving target was a challenge, but this was not the first time he had cast from horseback. A barrier wouldn’t work for this, he’d end up catching Kaaras more than the other rider. No, this required something else. He focused on the back of the other rider, breathing in deep and slow as he gathered his energy about him. He felt the familiar tingle, the pressure that built up behind his eyes and along his arm. And...release. A bright, beautiful, purple sigil blazed on the back of the rider’s armor. Dorian could still feel it attached to him, like so many cobwebs stretching through the space between them. A moment’s breath and the sigil burned from purple to searing white. Perfect. Dorian tugged on those miniscule tendrils of energy, setting off the sigil.

Dorian wasn’t sure if it was the horse or the woman screaming. The sigil had quite literally detonated, blowing her off of the saddle in a rain of blood. The horse had thrown its head back, briefly silhouetted in the light of the explosion, before it was tipping over backwards. 

It was all very glorious until Dorian was reminded of the fact that he had cast off of a horse that was likely Tevinter trained, but not desensitized to magic in the way a Tevinter _mage’s_ horse was. Dorian’s own horse could give less of a shit what he cast off of it, so long as it was not actually on fire. This borrowed horse gave a shit. Within moments of watching the other rider explode off of her saddle, he was unseated and toppling to the ground. He was fortunate that his foot didn’t get caught in the stirrup, but the distinct _snap_ he had heard upon impact told him that he was going to need to find another staff, and soon. Either that, or he’d broken a bone and was yet to actually feel it. He was betting on the staff.

As soon as he could breathe again, he rolled to the side and sat up. The shrieking he was hearing was definitely the other horse. It was grounded, trying to roll to its hooves but clearly unable to due to the wound in its back. The rider couldn’t shriek because she was little more than well-armored meat laying in a pile on the ground. That had certainly been effective. Kaaras was still on the ground, laying a little too still for Dorian’s tastes.

“Kaaras?” he coughed and got to his feet. Yes, it was his staff that had snapped in half upon landing. That was fortunate in some ways. He staggered over to the Inquisitor and looked down at him, “Kaaras, can you hear me?”

“What the fuck,” the Qunari’s voice was hoarse, “just happened?”

“Well, the short of it is that I saved you,” Dorian put his hand on his lower back to rub out some of the soreness, “and I’m sure that it all looked quite heroic. We use horses and ropes in Tevinter, by the way, to combat the Karasaad. Should have warned you about that when I saw the riders.”

“Would have been nice to know,” Kaaras agreed, still not making any attempts to move. Dorian moved closer to him and kneeled down, reaching to loosen the rope from around his horns. One of the familiar metal caps that Kaaras wore on his horns had been stripped off in the drag. The horn underneath had been carved into with what Dorian recognized as Qunari lettering but couldn’t actually read. He knew some basic Qunlat, but was not exactly concerned with reading Kaaras’ horn. He was more concerned with ascertaining how injured he was. 

And there was the downed horse. The animal’s struggle was distracting. And a bit saddening. It hadn’t been Dorian’s intention to hurt the animal but… things happened in the thick of a fight that you didn’t intend. He slipped a knife from his boot and excused himself from Kaaras for a moment. 

“I’ll bet you I get accused of blood magic,” Dorian remarked as he returned to Kaaras and kneeled back down. His hands and the front of his robes were soaked in horse blood. Kaaras grunted at him, stiffly trying to unbuckle his pauldrons.

Dorian reached to help him, fishing his hand up underneath the pauldron to undo one of the buckles that attached it to the harness that crossed Kaaras’ chest. With those out of the way, it was easier to roll the Qunari to his side so that Dorian could see the disaster that was his back. While Kaaras wore more armor than Bull, Dorian still couldn’t wrap his mind around why they needed to expose so much skin.

“Aren’t you Tal-Vashoth?” he snipped, following his own thoughts, “Why follow in the grand Qunari tradition of not wearing proper armor?”

“Everyone assumes I am Qunari,” Kaaras answered him hoarsely, “So why not give them what they’re expecting? That and this armor was my father’s.”

“Egh,” Dorian didn’t particularly want to touch that with a ten foot pole. No more questions. He turned his focus more on picking debris out of the wounds on Kaaras’ back so that he could begin to heal him without worrying about the debris being accidentally healed in. It would be worked out but just removing it ahead of time saved energy. 

“The Inquisitor -- is he dead?” Cassandra’s voice sounded distinctly tight, “There’s so much blood.”

It wasn’t an accusation of blood magic, not yet. But the blood was definitely noticed. Dorian shook his head, not bothering to look up at the Seeker, “Oh, no. He’s quite alive. This isn’t his blood.”

“Are you...performing blood magic?” Cassandra’s voice was still tight, the concern shifting to disbelief and disgust. There it was. 

“I won the bet,” Dorian remarked to Kaaras, “though we didn’t establish what my winnings would be. Let’s say...my pick from the wine cellar.” 

“Whatever you want, Dorian. It isn’t blood magic,” Kaaras grumbled, still not making much of an effort to move, “I think he killed the horse.”

“I _did_ kill the horse, because it was suffering. It was either to heal the horse or the Inquisitor, and while I was tempted by what is surely stellar breeding for the Free Marches, I chose Kaaras.”

Cassandra made a disgusted sound behind him and walked around the Inquisitor, dropping to her own knees with a clatter of plate armor in front of him. She dug a potion out of the satchel at her hip and uncorked it, helping Kaaras to drink it while Dorian focused on healing his scraped up back. 

Bull and Sera joined them a short time later, followed by the rest of their patchy little troup. There was a tense sort of silence that surrounded them as Dorian healed and the others worked to make a sort of makeshift camp, removing the remains of the fallen horse and rider. Even after Kaaras’ skin was patched up, Dorian found himself with his hands on the Inquisitor’s neck, focused on healing fractured bone and strained soft tissue. You couldn’t be pulled around at a high speed by your head and not experience some sort of neck injury. He somewhat wished he’d attended to that first, before letting Kaaras roll to his side. At least it was not as bad as it could have been…

He was glad for the fact that camp had been set up around them, when he finally stepped away from the Inquisitor. The Tal-Vashoth was completely healed and clearly feeling much better than he had been moments before, but Dorian felt like shit. He’d been low on mana before he’d decided to perform riding stunts. He wandered towards Bull and dropped to sit at his feet, leaning his head against his knee. 

“I have to admit that was not what I had been expecting,” Bull remarked, threading his thick fingers through Dorian’s sweaty hair, “I’m impressed.”

“I broke my staff.”

“Aw, poor thing,” Bull chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll find you a new one. You seemed to do well enough without it.”

“Close up. And I’m exhausted,” Dorian grumbled, closing his eyes, “I was already scraping the bottom when he got pulled. Now he knows.”

“Now he knows,” Bull agreed, still petting Dorian’s hair, “Maybe he’ll remove one of his pauldrons now.”

“Is that why you only wear one spaulder?”

“Nah, though the mobility certainly helps when you have to pull stupid shit off your horns. That little rope trick doesn’t work as well now, though Tevinter certainly put a lot of time and attention into training calvary for it. They seem to be falling back on chariots again. Carting tender little mages back and forth behind the infantry,” Bull’s voice was a low growl, “Just have to keep the likes of these riders off the Karasaad and we’re fine. Grab the rope, give it a yank, and you have yourself a kill. Or you can just cut it. I’ll put our Inquisitor through the paces of dealing with a pricker.”

“Chariots are fashionable. So is making an appearance at a skirmish,” Dorian shrugged, “being behind where everything actually happens lets one have all the glory of war without actually getting dirty.”

“Spent some time lounging in a chariot and eating grapes while soldiers die, Dorian?”

“No. I think chariots are tacky,” Dorian glanced up at him, then dropped the humor from his voice. “I did participate in a couple of skirmishes, though, on Seheron. I--”

“Stop,” Bull pulled his hand away from Dorian’s hair and stood abruptly. Dorian looked up at him, his brows creasing together in confusion.

“Bull? Did I say something?”

“Just stop,” Bull growled and walked away, leaving him to sit alone on the ground. He watched the Qunari cross to the other side of the camp and search out a bottle of liquor from their supplies. Dorian leaned back against the log that Bull had been sitting on and just watched him move through the camp. The Qunari stopped to say something to the Inquisitor, grabbing the other man’s horn and giving it a shake, wearing a smile like nothing had happened. And what had happened just now?


	9. Chapter 9

Dorian hated the creaking of bones. It was quiet, subtle, but present enough to draw his attention. Maybe he just wanted to be distracted. They’d run into trouble, as they were wont to do in the company of the Inquisitor. The fight had been vicious and confusing. Dorian had gotten separated from the others.

It was more accurate to say that he had taken a step back and had put his weight on a rotten board. It had cracked beneath him and he had fallen down into his current situation. The sound of the fight had gotten distant, and it was very clear that no one heard him shouting for help. The landing at the bottom of the shaft -- he wasn’t sure what it really was -- had been hard. Hard enough that he’d broken his arm. He’d managed to quell the pain, but had focused more of his energy on his only companion at the bottom of the shaft.

The aforementioned skeleton. 

Dorian had reanimated it so that it could stand watch over him while he waited, so that he could rest if necessary. The shaft was illuminated by a soft flickering purple light emanating from the skeleton’s otherwise empty eye sockets. It was holding a bow and a handful of arrows, its head cocked up so that it was “looking” up at the broken boards Dorian had fallen through. 

The Altus exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. The pain was starting to radiate from his arm again. Setting a bone was easier and safer with help, even if you were versed in healing arts. He hadn’t bothered to actually strip off his glove and unwrap his arm to take a look at it. It wouldn’t matter what it looked like, anyways. It was a problem for later. He lifted his other hand to reach for the break and noted that he was shaking. Ah, yes. That did make sense. He rested his hand over where the pain was radiating from and focused his attention on channeling just enough spirit energy to heal a bit of the bruising to alleviate some of that pain.

Injury had a way of sapping one’s energy. That little burst of mana was exhausting. He huffed in frustration and just let his head rest against the stone behind him. Someone had to realize he was missing. They had to, eventually. If Bull didn’t, Sera surely would, and then Kaaras. Getting him back up to the surface was surely going to be interesting.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the hole in the wooden boards above him. The sky was smokey and faintly tinged in orange, indicating the presence of a fire. That wasn’t unusual when _he_ was actively fighting; if it wasn’t raising the dead he was lighting things on fire. Fire when he _wasn’t_ actively involved could be very bad. It was a relief that the sky wasn’t tinted green. That was always a particularly bad sign. 

Dorian hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until he was jostled awake by the sound of the skeleton moving. In a haze, he watched the skeleton fire an arrow up out of the hole in the boards. It was followed by a solid ‘THOCK’ as the arrow embedded itself in a shield. Dorian could see the distant silhouette of Kaaras’ curved horns behind the shield. 

“Oh, piss off!” Sera’s voice echoed down the shaft and she shot the skeleton, very neatly knocking its head off. The purple light extinguished and the rest of the bones crumpled into a pile in front of Dorian.

“Is he dead?” there was a somewhat panicked edge to Sera’s voice, “He better not be fucking dead! I'll kill him!”

“I’m not dead,” Dorian’s voice came out hoarse, “just injured. You shot my guard.”

“Creepy fucking guard,” Sera called back to him. Another set of silhouetted horns joined Kaaras’. It was such a relief to hear Sera, and see the two concerned Qunari peering down at him. The Iron Bull had barely spoke to him in days. Not since Dorian had mentioned Seheron. 

“How injured? Why didn’t you heal yourself?” Iron Bull’s voice rumbled down to him.

“I’ve broken my arm, Bull. If you must know, I didn’t heal it because bones can be tricky and I would rather have assistance with that than end up with an imperfect result,” Dorian quipped, closing his eyes again. Who knew that staring at silhouettes against a bright gray sky would be disorienting. 

“How are we going to get him up?” Kaaras pulled back from the hole in the boards and Dorian listened to them shuffling around. Sera’s figure stood out for a moment, her elvish eyes glinting as the light caught them.

“You could lower me down, I’ll tie us together--”

“Lower Kaaras down, he can lift Dorian easier. I’ll pull him up.”

“Excuse me! That’s a stupid plan, innit? I’m smaller, yeah, but I can hold onto him, especially if you give me some rope. Makes more sense than throwing Inky down a hole.”

They could just let him die down there. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan, at this rate. He nudged the broken skull of the skeleton with the toe of his boot while he listened to them arguing about who was going to be lowered into the hole and how. The idea of one of the Qunari being down in the cramped space with him wasn’t terribly pleasant.

“I hate to interrupt, but I think I have a unique perspective on this situation,” he shouted up at them, “lower Sera down. It isn’t exactly spacious down here.”

That settled it. The two Qunari ripped more boards away, and Sera was rappelling down to him moments later, bouncing her way down the wall with an odd expertise that indicated this was hardly the first time she had gotten somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be with the aid of some rope. She touched a foot to the ground and turned to him.

“You’re not going to want to bring Ser Bones up with you, are you?”

“Ser Bones was poor company. I don’t regret leaving him behind,” Dorian smiled at her tiredly and pushed himself up off the ground. 

“Right, so,” Sera walked around behind him and grabbed hold of his shoulders, popping herself up on his back. He winced as she jostled his arm, “We’ll tie each other together like this. I’ll use my arms on the rope and you walk up the wall. Easy.”

“Sera, that’s the stupidest--”

“I can strap you to my fucking back if’n you’d prefer that?” Sera snapped at him, looping a bit of rope around him, “Or we can do it this way?”

They were going to die. He should have let Kaaras come down and get him. He shut his mouth and let the elf do what she was going to do. Her legs were gripped firmly around his hips, and he couldn’t deny that she had strong legs but… they were going to die. There was no commentary from above as Sera gave the rope that was attached to whatever mess she was trying to pass off as a harness a tug. 

Sera braced herself, tightening her legs, as the rope was pulled. Dorian found himself scrambling, gritting his teeth when his arm was jostled and struggling to get a foothold against the wall. Sera was holding tight to the rope, her muscles straining. As strong as her legs were, Dorian was certain it was mostly the poorly tied rope that was keeping them together. _He_ was going to die. Falling had been instantaneous. Sera’s descent had been quick. This climb was tortuously long. 

A faint spark of green above his head alerted him to the fact that Kaaras was reaching down for them. Bull must be the one pulling on the rope then. Sera grasped the remnants of the boards and Kaaras grabbed Dorian by the collar of his robes, hauling them over the edge. As careful as the Qunari was trying to be, Dorian felt a twist in his arm as he was pulled up.

When he opened his eyes, he was being carried by The Iron Bull. Bull wasn’t looking at him, carrying him like a bride in his arms as they made their slow way back to camp. He must have fainted when he’d felt that peculiar twist of bone. He’d held on so long, up until that moment. 

Bull’s jaw was set and he was quiet as he carried Dorian. It gave Dorian a moment to look at him in silence, unobserved. Bull was the very definition of haggard and crude, but there was a kindness to him that seemed foreign in true Qunari. Dorian wasn’t actually going to count Kaaras in that since he knew the overly naive and kind Inquisitor wasn’t _true_ Qunari like The Iron Bull. Even if Dorian had upset Bull, he was the one carrying him and presumably looking after him. Of course, it would be Dorian’s luck that Bull would realize he was awake and drop him.

“You’re awake,” Bull seemed to read his thoughts, “good. You weren’t out long, but we had to get moving, before our enemies had time to rally and come back.”

“Are you mad at me still?”

Bull glanced down at him and frowned, “It isn’t anger. More disappointment. Sometimes, you learn something about someone, and it takes a moment. You learn they’re tied up in something that was a rough part of your life, in a way you didn’t expect.”

“This is because I mentioned I had gone to Seheron.”

“Mhm. A couple of skirmishes, you said. Most of my people don’t spend more than two years there. Burns you out. I was there for nearly a decade before I lost it,” Bull grumbled to him, still carrying him in his arms, “and turned myself over to the Ben-Hassrath for reeducation.”

“I highly doubt you and I were ever on the battlefield at the same time, Bull.”

“That’s not the point of the thing, Dorian. Most of the Qunari serving at the port in Seheron are young. Younger than Kaaras,” Bull nodded his head towards the Inquisitor and Dorian winced. Inquisitor Adaar was only nineteen. It was easy to see him as a fully grown and capable man, but there were so many times that Dorian also saw the frightened youth put into an unexpected and unwanted position. 

“The ‘Vints show up every fall. We fight along the beaches, sometimes up in the cities. Nothing is won or lost, except lives. Then the ‘Vints leave, after they’ve armed the rebels and destabilized the area all over again. Maybe they sweep through some areas where there are Qunari civilians and kill the kids. That, or they let the rebels do it themselves. That’s one thing I have to hand the Fog Warriors. They never touched the civilians.”

Dorian’s mouth felt dry. He was busy remembering a group of Qunari running up against the soldiers that Dorian had been idly accompanying alongside Halward that autumn, so many years ago. He’d been young. Even flashier and eager to impress then than he was now. With what Bull had said, it was too easy to imagine Kaaras among them, to see that youthful face twisted up in terror and pain. In the moment those Qunari had been little more than beasts. But now…

“I didn’t know they were that young,” he spoke quietly, and somewhat wished that Bull would just put him down. Bull nodded and continued to carry him.

“It is often their first real tour. Then two years later, they go on to something else. In some ways, it is a test. Either they stick to what they believe in, or they crack and become Tal-Vashoth and we end up fighting them, too. They run off into the woods and become savage, serving as examples to all the others of why we need the Qun.”

The Iron Bull and Kaaras often butted heads, but Dorian also knew that Bull could be protective of the much younger Qunari. It made sense now. Just as Dorian was seeing Kaaras in place of the young Qunari that he had killed, The Iron Bull was seeing him as those that had been lost. It was easy to imagine Kaaras as one of the young beresaad suddenly thrust into the middle of a battle when he’d been told he would essentially be on guard duty. Kaaras hadn’t asked to be the Inquisitor, either. There were differences, of course, but the whole thing gave Dorian some insight into why The Bull behaved in the way he did sometimes.

He lifted his hand up to The Iron Bull’s jaw, rubbing his thumb over his stubble in a silent apology. Bull seemed to understand, because he snorted, “War is war. They’re not ignorant to that. It is just a damn shame for lives to go to waste over an area as unstable as Seheron. They could have done more. Been more. You’re fighting on the same side as me right now, Dorian, ‘Vint or not. And war is still war.”

Dorian dropped his hand from Bull’s face and let himself be carried since the Qunari had made no indication of wanting to put him down.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera, The Iron Bull, and Blackwall have a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: light homophobia, ticks and tick removal

Blackwall nudged Sera in the ribs and motioned with his chin. She looked up from the piece of paper she was fooling around with and followed the motion. There had apparently been a sort of shift change for the barmaids. The woman crossing the tavern porting pitchers of beer now was Rivaini. She had warm umber skin and her textured hair was loose, falling to her shoulders and forming a beautiful halo around her head. She was probably a few inches shorter than Sera was, with her skirts hanging from wide hips. Her top was somewhat more modest than the last barmaid's and she wasn’t nearly as buxom but Sera found herself agreeing with Bull for once -- the bit of ribbon dangling from the front of that top was alluring.

The Iron Bull followed their gaze and chuckled, “More beer?”

“More beer,” Blackwall agreed and Sera snorted, turning in her seat and raising her hand up before either of the two men could. The woman came over to them, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Hello, loves,” she greeted them with a smile, “what can I get for you?”

Sera giggled. She hadn’t meant to giggle, but it kind of just came out, “Uhhh… more beer, yeah? And what’s your name?”

“Amalia,” the woman blessedly smiled at Sera’s giggling instead of turning right around and leaving them there, “which beer were you drinking?”

She leaned over to grab the pitcher from their table, her hand resting very briefly on Bull’s forearm as she reached. Blackwall and Sera both watched her reach while Bull grinned at them.

“Fereldan’s fine,” Sera nodded to her and dug in the pouch at her hip to get some coin out. The woman took it from her with a smile, slipping it into a pocket hidden within her skirts.

“I’ll be right back with that for you, sweetheart,” she all but winked at Sera and turned to go, which made Sera’s face feel too hot. She watched the roll of the other woman’s hips as she crossed the tavern back to the bar and started to refill their pitcher.

“I think I have more of a chance with her than you two,” Bull chuckled and put down a card. Sera made a face at him, wrinkling her nose.

“What about Dorian?”

“Maker’s balls, do we have to talk about Dorian?” Blackwall growled and Sera rolled her eyes.

“What’s wrong with Dorian?” Sera swiped Bull’s card off the table and replaced it with her own. Blackwall sighed heavily and tossed down a card, which Sera was quick to snatch up and replace with another of hers.

“He’s… listen, I know you’re both involved with him--”

“Excuse me, what?” Sera laughed, her eyebrows going up, “Involved with him?”

“Aren’t you?” the human man looked at her in confusion, “You two are always all over each other. Wasn’t he...you know.”

Blackwall made a gesture like he was groping invisible breasts and Sera squealed in disbelief and laughter. The Iron Bull was chuckling too, shaking his horned head. Amalia reappeared in that moment and Blackwall quickly dropped his hands, turning bright red. The Rivaini woman didn’t look terribly impressed with how he’d been groping the air. She rested her hand on Bull’s shoulder.

“Anything else I can get you, loves?”

“We’re fine, Amalia, thank you,” Bull was careful when he turned his head to look at her, “check back in with us in half an hour?”

“I’ll be here,” Amalia smiled at him, squeezed his arm and moved on to the next table. Blackwall looked like he wanted to crawl under their table and die.

“I can’t believe it. One of you had to have seen her coming, and you let me…”

“We’ve only three eyes between us and we were both watching you play with invisible ditties,” Sera gestured between herself and Bull, “ _and_ I was trying to understand the stupid what came out your mouth. Dorian and I? And that?”

She groped the invisible breasts this time and laughed, “I think I know what you saw and...yeah, no. No! Bull, can you imagine?”

“What _exactly_ am I supposed to do with these?” The Iron Bull imitated Dorian’s voice, “Squeeze? Twist? Push them together? I just...don’t know.”

Sera nearly fell out of her chair laughing. She could see Dorian’s face along with Bull’s imitation of him. And it was so close to what had happened. She could just imagine it from Blackwall’s point of view and what he probably imagined he was seeing. Her, running up to Dorian and throwing her blouse open to bare her chest to him. Him, looking down with surprise and reaching out to cup one of her breasts before she leaned in to kiss his neck, impassioned! Him, gripping her hair and leaning his head back so that she could nip at his throat before they bundled away together inside of his tent.

And then there was what had _actually_ happened. She’d run up to him, desperately unlacing her blouse and throwing it open, “Arrrrgh! Dorian! Help!”

The mage had looked down at her exposed tits, his eyes getting wide, “What… exactly, am I helping with here?”

It had only taken a moment for him to notice the tick at the side of her right breast. She danced from foot to foot, almost in tears as he reached to pull it off of her with a simple declaration of, “Disgusting.”

“Are there more?”

“If I check you, you’re checking me,” Dorian had snipped but had started to look, raising her arm a little to glance under her armpit. 

“If I check, I’ll puke -- like this,” Sera had leaned in and hooked her fingers in the front of his robes, pretending to vomit down them. Dorian had tried to pull away from her, leaning his head back as far as he could and finally reaching up to grab her hair to pull her back.

“Stop! Stop!” he’d been laughing, even though he had looked a little green at her on point mock barfing, “Come on, I’ll check for ticks. Then we can get you a flea collar.”

And they’d gone inside Dorian’s tent so that he could pull three more ticks off of her. She hadn’t thought about what it must have looked like to an observer, especially not to an observer like her friend Blackwall. She cackled and shook her head.  


“Right, right, have a laugh. What was it you two were doing, then?” Blackwall grumbled, his brow low and broody over his bearded face. The Iron Bull looked at Sera expectantly and poured them all a drink.

“He was picking a tick off my tit,” Sera slammed a card down on the table, effectively ending the round and gathering her winnings, “picked three more off me, too. Biggest one was on my bum. How I hadn’t squished the little fucker when I was sitting…”

Blackwall didn’t look satisfied with the answer, “I was confused, I’ll give you that. I thought you both were inverted.”

“Inverted? The fuck you come up with a term like inverted?” Sera sneered in his direction, “No one calls it that anymore, unless they’re old and dumb.”

“I’ve lived alone for a long time, Sera.”

“Long enough you’ve probably had more hours with a cock in your hand than Dorian,” Sera’s sneer turned into a wide grin and she made a wanking gesture, “Prolly forgot what a good ripe peach tastes like.”

“Sera, can you not--”

“What? Talk about a lady’s hoo hoo? Her foof? Her kitty? Axe wound, honey pot...her box,” Sera listed terms off, ticking them on her fingers, “Snatch. Fur teacup?

“Bone collector,” The Iron Bull added.

“Pecker wrecker,” Sera grinned across the table at the Qunari and Blackwall just sighed at both of them. 

“I didn’t forget what a woman tastes like and you’re overestimating my time spent entertaining myself, Sera,” he grumbled and reached to gather the cards, “sorry I said something you didn’t like. I just don’t understand it.”

“What’s to understand?” Sera tilted her head to the side, “You like women, I like women, we talk about that and that’s all good, yeah? But mention a cock and you twist up like a withered old Chantry sister.”

“It’s different,” Blackwall grumbled as he shuffled the cards in his calloused hands, “I don’t know. It just is.”

The Iron Bull shrugged slightly in Sera’s direction, “I don’t agree. There isn’t a difference between Sera being attracted to women, and Dorian being attracted to men, not truly. The only difference I can think of is _your_ comfort with it. What if someone curled their lip at you for liking women, Blackwall?”

“Probably wouldn’t notice, honestly,” Blackwall tapped the cards against the table.

“That’s beside the point,” Bull continued, “these things, they’re not something you can just easily dismiss. They’re integral to how Sera and Dorian interact with people, and how they think of themselves. This attitude you have is demoralizing to them. Insulting Dorian while embracing Sera doesn’t make it less so.”

“Those’re some words you used,” Sera wrinkled her nose, “what?”

“When he’s a shit to Dorian but nice to you, that niceness is meaningless,” Bull nodded to Sera, “and it’s rude.”

“Right,” Sera nodded, “me being one thing and Dorian being different doesn’t make sense, and even if he weren’t my friend, it’d be shit.”

Blackwall set the cards down and held his hands up, “I’m not meaning to insult anyone. I have an opinion. It isn’t relevant to anything. Ignore it.”

“It becomes relevant when you open your mouth and provide that opinion,” Bull reached for the deck of cards and took them from Blackwall, “especially when it isn’t asked for. It is also difficult to ignore an opinion on something like that. I’m not threatened by you, what you think doesn’t matter to _me_ , but you present a threat to Dorian. And a familiar sentiment on a different tongue.”

Blackwall sat back in his seat and sighed, “What can I say to make this stop?”

“Maybe shutting up is part of it?” Sera suggested, “At least when you’re going to be rude about someone.”

That got a groan from Blackwall, “Right, but...look. Sera. There’s nothing uncomfortable about a cock for _you_? Surely, you get it.”

Sera pursed her lips while she was thinking, “Well… sure. When it’s on a _man_. If it were a lady’s cock, no? I don’t like _men_. Dorian and I talked about this recently, yeah? It isn’t her bits that matter. It’s her her-ness. And he’s not here but I’m sure he’d be fine with me saying he’d climb Krem if given the chance.”

Blackwall looked at her like he had ceased to function and all that came out was a, “What?”

The Iron Bull groaned and leaned his head back, “For fuck’s sake. She’s telling you that you’re the one preoccupied with cocks and cunts, not them.”

Blackwall sputtered, so Bull continued, “Maybe I can bridge the gap for you, Blackwall. Parts are nice, interesting. They make things fun. But the person underneath all of that is what’s _really_ interesting. Real fun. Think about it. When you’re with a woman, really with her… what’s more important? How perky her tits are, how wet she gets, or the way her lips curve when she smiles at you? The sound of her voice when she says your name? Maybe the scent of her skin? The other stuff’s less important than who _she_ is.”

The human man exhaled through his nose and reached for his drink. Sera looked up at The Bull and shrugged with one shoulder, “Anyhow. Thought you and Dorian were smashing bits and bobs together, but you’re wanting to test your luck with Amalia’s?”

“Having a chance doesn’t mean I’d do it. Besides, Dorian and I… well. Perhaps you have some insight that I don’t into what Dorian wants,” Bull dipped his head to her in acknowledgement of their friendship. Sera rolled her eyes.

“Last I heard, you were the one freezing him out, but then you were carrying him ‘round like a stolen bride, so what do I know? I do know he thinks you two have great sex. That you’re kind. But that he’s afraid you’re going to disappear on him, yeah? All stuff you probably know. He’s a shit liar,” Sera said and pointed at the cards, “Speaking of. Deal.”

“He acts like he wants me to disappear,” Bull replied and started to deal the cards, “getting closer than arm’s length with him is difficult. I’ve tried. I’ve been patient. I want the two of us to be good for each other, but…”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re emotionally constipated and he’s like a little yippy dog what’s been kicked too many times and is always looking for a shoe, yeah,” Sera waved him off and gathered her cards up.

“Not the description I would have thought of, but alright.”

“Accurate, though, if you think about it. They growl and fuss and make like they’re big, but they’re really shaking like a leaf and pissing themselves. Figure they’ll bite you before you get the chance to kick ‘em. Following now?”

“I am,” Bull finished dealing the cards, “there’s not much to do for that.”

“Right, because promising you’ll never leave is shite,” Sera nodded her head, “everyone always does, eventually, and not even on purpose. People die, get lost. Change. How it is.”

“That’s romantic,” Blackwall grumbled from beneath his beard and Sera looked at him.

“I’m a romantic, just not...not about that,” she replied, “never leaving is a promise no one can actually keep. Not really.”

“If that’s what he needs…” Bull licked his lips and laid down the first card, “I’m going to have to talk to him.”

“Well, if you’re planning on breaking it off, do it quick,” Sera followed his card with one of her own, “before he gets in any deeper than he is. I know you two feel some sort of way, but decide what you’re doing before it gets worse.”

The Iron Bull drained his beer and reached for the pitcher to refill it, “I have to decide what I want to do, first. I love him.”

“Thought about telling him that?” Sera raised her eyebrows.

“If you want to see Dorian run from me,” Bull looked at her across the table, “I can guarantee _that_ would do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm glad people seem to be enjoying this :)  
> Kudos and comments are love <3
> 
> If you enjoy Dorian's friendship with Sera, you'll like another work by me: Alone Together


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